All over America - oh, say
can you see! - thousands, if
not millions of Americans, say
I'll be right back. Just going
for a walk around the block.
They may pick up a carton of
cigarettes, a gallon of milk,
the newspaper they can roll
under their arm and bring home.

I said nothing to nobody and
struck out, winged sneakers
on my feet like a Valkyrie,
walked down the street, avoiding
the puddles, the disgusting
garbage on the side of the street,
rounded the bend to Sleighride
and with a huff and a puff
marched up this high slope,
oh don't you worry, not one
of them Olympic slopes in
Korea.

And pride mounting
as I neared the summit
then trotted downward
and burst into my house.

The slo-cooker was making
chili for me. Vegetarian.
With everything in it,
especially those Udon
noodles I can't get
enough of. Which lovely
dish shall I serve it in?
Helene's. The blue thatch
pattern I snatched from
her house before she
left for the old ladies home.

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

How delightful it is sitting on the veranda
here in Calabria, Italy, the warm temp is
simply divine, this tea has a flavor as sweet
as the songbirds flitting all about.

Scuse me as I take another sip, pinkie lifted
in this fine blue cup. Amazing how the Oil of
Bergamat makes it safely throughout the world,
do they drink Earl Grey at the Pyongyang Olympics
where the wind often blows skiiers off course?

Here's a poem I wrote this morning before leaving for my Monday Volunteer Job at Adult Daycare on York Road.

FRONT DOOR OPEN

The dead autumn leaves are racing each otherup the street, the backpacked school kids haveleft to pursue the world of eraserboardsand laptops, and I am listening to Billy Harton drums in the kitchen, an Ethan Iverson leftover(he's on there, too)

Awaiting the moment to crack my first egg to make breakfastDinosaur? Grace would laugh. Peacock? Didn't we have the option at The Pennsylvania State Fair?

Make mine a plain ole white egg. Such stories carriedwithin there! Must I remind you that "ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny"

A gust of fresh air enters and sends me off to the kitchenthere to crack the first egg of a million years ago.

***
We are doing well on The Compass. Front cover will be a Marina in Key Largo.

Back cover a melange of Superbowl Photos.

As always, Mark Amos of Buxmont does a great job telling me what pix will or won't work.

Sent a Valentine Card to Sarah and Ethan today. Made the card with the Rice Carton from Mandarin Garden.

Was on the way to the PO, when at the bottom of my street, was a mailman, Chinese, I believe. He assured me it would arrive just fine.

Made it in the kitchen with scissors and Scotch tape. Then ran upstairs to type a note on my new HP printer.

And there I will sip my cafe au lait, just so,
bask my head in the sunshine, flirt with
the garcons, and walk along the swirling
Seine, forgetting all about home.

SUNDAY CINEMA AT THE LIBRARY

"Of Gods and Men" was the featured film at the Upper Moreland Free
Public Library on Sunday, Jan. 21. The third Sunday Cinema brought out
30 people for this intense and mystifying film about Trappist monks in
Algeria.

Discussion leader Maurizio Giammarco, PhD, asked pertinent questions
from the audience to get us thinking, even as we mused about the Eagles
playing the Vikings that evening.

Those are simply the frills. His choice of films is always superb. A
visionary, he has pondered and reflected on the films and wants his
audience - of mostly seniors - to find deeper meanings, such as the
music, the dialogue, the lighting.

He remembers our names and insists we think on our feet.

On Feb. 18, join us for "Carnage."

Ruth Z. Deming
Willow Grove, PA
215 659 2142

ONE MORE THING

When I took my laptop to be fixed, Joe said, "You write all these emails?"

Saturday, February 10, 2018

I've got a hacking cough. As long as I don't start, I'm all right. But once I feel my lungs start to hiccup, I know soon I won't be able to resist and the spasms will come.

THE LAST OF THE RUM COFFEE

I sipped it upstairs in bed
in the cat cup as I locked
myself in bed, vowing to
finish at least one of my
now-overdue books, the
Tom Hanks I could not get
through, but out of honour
and respect, I picked up
the short but profound
book by the ALS-dying
Sam Shepard.

Taking tiny sips of
coffee, as Sam himself
died slowly in his
wheelchair on the porch.

The last pages were
magnificent, his entire
family, the men especially,
pushing him down the dust-strewn
road toward his deliverance.

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Scott and I watched together. He was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth.

I was at home watching MANNIX on the Decades Channel and submitting my final two true stories.

Just wrote Mom and said I have a terrible cold. Thanks to Scott he brought me delicious chicken and dumpling soup.

I do feel awful, but it's only temporary.

GOLLIWOG'S CAKEWALK

Do these words mean anything to you?
Not unless you're Jonathan Biss or
Ethan Iverson.

The Cakewalk is a sprightly dance
by Debussy I played on our living room piano.
A friend of mine who served in Vietnam
called the composer De Bussy. It made me
cringe.

I was trying to get him to like classical music
the way he liked Paint it Black and Sky Pilot
as he sat in foxholes hoping the gooks would
pass them by.

Dave Moyer is still alive I'm sure, if he hadn't
melted away from Agent Orange. Originally from Lansing,
I wonder if he was at the Eagles game last night in
that huge stadium like the Sistine Chapel,
guzzling beer from paper cups, hugging his grandchildren
and hearing Golliwog's Cakewalk when Nick Foles
handed off the football for the final touchdown.

***

Here's what the Boston Herald said about their Patriots.

Actually look it up yourselves as my blogspot is having and touch time.

"It's all under a dome like the Hagia Sophia, with fake grass that hurts their tootsies," she continued twisting that fabulous muscled body of hers, as she stirred Breakstone Sour Cream into the Spinach and Anchovy dip.

Husbands Harry and Max were at Romeo's Bar having

their pre-game Heinekens, watching pre-game maneuvers

on the huge screen over the bar. If they blinked or

went to the loo, big looming screens deleted nothing

from their eager glee-filled eyes.

"I got it," said Harry, peeling out two twenties from

his well-worn billfold.

Back at home, chubby Harry cozied up to Miranda, kissing her

long swan-like neck. "Babe," he said, you got more muscle mass than Tom Brady."

"Yeah, but you're my man, ole man Brady ain't."

"Hey, what smells so good," asked Max, moving to the oven.

"Don't look," said Peggy. "New recipe for chicken wings." He

would never know she was getting concerned about his girth

- all those beers and midnight snacks - and used breaded seitan
tenders—BBQ or spicy Buffalo style—served with vegan ranch dressing.

Appetizers ready, drinks set on coasters of flying ducks, the party of four went downstairs to the den, sitting in front of the roaring gas fireplace.

The guys' Lazy-Boy chairs had room for appetizers and drinks.

The ladies drank small shots of Martinelli's Apple Cider or tall glasses of filtered water from the fridge.

Go Eagles Go, said chubby Harry, as he fell asleep and snored.

As game-time approached, they stretched their legs, walked around, went outside for a breath of fresh suburban air.

When they returned, Harry was on the floor, with BBQ sauce smeared on his face. Stone-cold dead.

***

I had until midnight tonight to submit two true stories to Bella Online.

First I had to think of what I would write about. Then I had to write them. The shorter the better.

Titles: Mary, The Pizzelle Maker and the Doomed Apartment Complex.

The Moon and I.

The reason I wrote about the moon was b/c Sandy Wood of the McDonald Observatory at the University of TX at Austin - hey, I went there for one semester - spoke about Schroeder's Valley, a location on the moon, just as Lake Erie is a place on Planet Earth.

I think it's a good story and I hope the editor, Lisa Shea, likes it, too.

I was also watching Mannix, starring Mike Connors, on Decades TV. Channel 3.2